And she, quoting the Odyssey again: 

    “Swear, then, thou mean’st not what my soul forebodes;
    Swear by the solemn oath that binds the gods!”

And in turn he quoted: 

    “Loved and adored, O goddess as thou art,
    Forgive the weakness of a human heart.”

But she said with gay audacity, “I have nothing to forgive you—­yet.”

“Are you challenging me?  Because I am likely to take you into my arms at any moment if you are.”

“Not here—­Garry!”—­looking up in quick concern, for his recklessness at times dismayed her.  Considering him doubtfully she made up her mind that she was safe, and her little chin went up in defiance.

“The hammock’s in the patio,” he said.

“There’s moonlight there, too.  No, thank you—­with Cissy wakeful and her windows commanding every nook!...  Besides—­as I told you, I’ve been thinking.”

“And what have you concluded?”

Delicate straight nose in the air, eyebrows arched in airy disdain, she stood preoccupied with some little inward train of thought that alternately made grave and gay the upcurled corners of her lips.

“About this question of—­ah—­love-making—­” dropping her eyes in pretence of humility.

“It is no longer a question, you know.”

She would not look up; her lashes seemed to rest on the bloom of the rounded cheek as though the lids were shut, but there came from the shadows between the lids a faint glimmer; and he thought of that first day when from her lifted gaze a thousand gay little demons seemed to laugh at him.

“I’ve been thinking,” she remarked, “that this question of making love to me should be seriously discussed.”

“That’s what I’ve been asking you to do in the patio—­”

“I’ve been thinking, with deep but rather tardy concern, that it is not the best policy for me to be—­courted—­any more.”

She glanced up; her entire expression had suddenly altered to a gravity unmistakable.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“Can you tell me?  I ask you, Garry, what has happened?”

“I don’t understand—­”

“Nor I....  Because that little fool you kissed—­so many, many centuries ago—­is not this disillusioned woman who is standing here!...  May I be a little bit serious with you?”

“Of course,” he said, amused; “come out on the east balcony and tell me what troubles you.”

She considered him, smilingly suspicious of his alacrity.

“I don’t think we had better go to the balcony.”  “Shiela, can’t you ever get over being ashamed when I make love to you?”

“I don’t want to get over it, Garry.”

“Are you still afraid to let me love you?”

Her mouth curved gravely as a perplexed child’s; she looked down at the table where his sun-burnt hand now lay lightly across hers.